The Murder of Busy Lizzie mb-46

by Gladys Mitchell

  Marius was reading, but, in response to his child’s plea that she needed his room, he agreed to remove himself after requesting her not to dawdle.

  ‘And what we’re to do about baths and what not, when all these bird-watchers arrive, I don’t care to think,’ he said. ‘If I’d realised that Lizzie meant to crowd out the hotel with people sleeping three to a room, I would never have come.’

  ‘Have you seen Aunt Eliza, Father?’

  ‘No, I have not. I went down to meet the boat, but she was not on it. Half-a-dozen people were landed, but your aunt was not among them.’

  ‘Did you say anything at the desk?—ask after her, I mean?’

  ‘No. Miss Crimp was busy, and it did not seem worth my while to hang about until she was at liberty.’

  Margaret went down to him in the lounge when she had had her bath to inform him that his room was now at his own disposal, and added,

  ‘There’s nobody wanting anything at the desk now. Shall I speak to Miss Crimp about Aunt Eliza?’

  ‘No. You go and get ready for dinner. I will speak to Miss Crimp myself.’

  He found the receptionist worried.

  ‘I can’t think what’s keeping her, Mr Lovelaine,’ she said. ‘I quite thought she would have been on yesterday’s boat and, when she was not, I was certain she would turn up today. There is no boat now until Saturday morning, and that is much too late for her to see to things. All these naturalists will be on the steamer, and the boat will be plying back and forth all the morning to bring them off. They will be arriving here half-a-dozen or more at a time, a perpetual influx, and all having to be assigned to their rooms and chalets, and their luggage to be seen to, and all the rest of it, apart from our having the upset of turning the lounge into a conference room for them. Thank goodness all the camp beds and extra chairs were brought over last Saturday, so that’s done with. They’ll have to do their own arranging and put up the extra beds themselves, I’m afraid. The staff can’t be expected to see to everything. Of course we’ve had to reduce our usual charges because they’ve been told to bring sleeping-bags and also because they insisted upon making a group booking at an inclusive charge, which does cut our profits and I can’t think why Eliza agreed to it.’

  ‘But why do you think my sister is delaying her return? Is there any reason that you know of?’

  ‘I really cannot think of any, Mr Lovelaine. There was no suggestion that she intended to stay over there longer than usual. And now, if you don’t mind, I have a whole heap of things to see to. There is only tomorrow to get everything done, so I’m sure you will excuse me.’

  ‘Oh, yes, of course. How long are these naturalist people staying?—I feel bound to point out that the number of bathrooms is limited !’

  ‘A week, ten days, a fortnight, and one party will stay even longer. We are expecting to get rid of the camp beds on Saturday week, but that is the most we can hope for.’

  ‘I see. Well, I shall look forward to this Saturday’s boatloads in one respect at least.’

  ‘More than I shall, Mr Lovelaine, I can assure you!’

  ‘To see my sister, I mean.’ Marius went off to the room his daughter had vacated and later joined his children at dinner. ‘Your aunt must now be expected on Saturday,’ he said. ‘ In view of the influx which is then anticipated, I have a very good mind to meet the boat when it comes in, greet Lizzie (but not warmly) and take the boat back to the mainland. Having invited us here, I think the least she could do was to be here to greet us. I feel put out, decidedly put out. Besides, these bird-watchers will swarm everywhere. There will be no peace for anybody. I am informed at the desk that some of them may be staying for an indefinite time. It is most annoying and provoking of Lizzie not to have told us about them, and most inconsiderate, too.’

  ‘Perhaps she thinks we haven’t shown her all that much consideration,’ said Sebastian, ‘not communicating with her or going anywhere near her, I mean. As for the bird-watchers, Father, I expect they’ll only haunt the rocks and the cliffs. Besides, some of them may even break their necks with their scrambling about. You never know your luck.’ He caught his sister’s eye and slightly shook his head. She understood him. It was not the time to mention Ransome.

  The next day, Friday, was passed by the brother and sister in bathing and sun-bathing between breakfast and lunch, and by taking a windy walk directly after lunch along the west cliffs. The cliff path gave them views of a series of steep escarpments with knife-edge headlands enclosing small inlets. Up these inlets the sea leapt, tossed and foamed, assaulting a succession of black rocks, luridly streaked with bright-green, poisonous-looking seaweed, which lay like sea-monsters dangerously lurking inshore.

  ‘Grand, but off-putting,’ yelled Sebastian, his voice almost shouted down by the wind. ‘Let’s shelter behind that tor.’

  Winds and storms had weathered the granite to a vast bare crag in whose lee some cattle were sheltering.

  ‘Oh, cows!’ exclaimed Margaret, backing away.

  ‘They won’t hurt you.’

  ‘I don’t like them at such close quarters. What’s the time?’

  ‘Nearly four.’

  ‘Well, we ought to be getting along to the farm for tea.’

  ‘You don’t really mean to take up with that, do you?’

  ‘We were invited and I think we could just drop in. I wouldn’t mind meeting Cousin Ransome again.’

  ‘Cousin… ? Oh, well, I suppose he is.’

  There was no clear path to the farm from where they were. They could see the roofs of its buildings, however, for the island at this point was barely half a mile wide, so they made their way by following tracks through the bracken and soon arrived at the door of the cottage from which Ransome had emerged on the previous occasion.

  He opened the door as soon as they knocked. They received the impression that he had been waiting for them. He had shaved and was neatly dressed in dark grey flannel trousers, a blue shirt open at the neck, and a heather-mixture tweed jacket.

  ‘I reckon I’m going to disappoint you,’ he said. ‘Connie Crimp sent for Dad and he’s had to go over to the mainland and he’s taken Lucy with him, so I can give you some tea up at the house, but I can’t introduce you to them. How did you leave things at the hotel?’

  ‘In rather a muddle,’ said Margaret, as they entered the farmhouse. ‘Aunt Eliza still hasn’t come back from the mainland and we’re threatened with a full-scale invasion of birdwatchers on Saturday. Oh, you know about that, of course. I think we told you.’

  ‘Dad and Lucy have taken the trip in Dimbleton’s little boat. They’re going across to round up my mam and tell her to get her business cleared up and get back on tomorrow’s steamer, so I knew she wouldn’t have been on today’s boat. I reckon Connie Crimp is in a bit of a taking.’

  ‘Yes, Miss Crimp is in the hell of a flap,’ said Sebastian. ‘Does Aunt Eliza usually go off on these jaunts and leave her to cope?’

  ‘Oh, you wouldn’t call them jaunts,’ said Ransome seriously. ‘There’s a lot of business to see to on the mainland. We haven’t a bank or a doctor on the island, that’s for one thing. Nor have we any newspapers, except when the boat comes in. Then there’s all the wholesale stuff. I told you what my dad, from the farm, and I, from my holding, can supply, but that doesn’t begin to add up to all that’s needed to run that hotel. Strikes me she didn’t know what she was letting herself in for when she took it on. Then the servants. Always changing, they are. Don’t like being stuck out here with only one pub and no cinema. Dull it is, and those who aren’t daft are devils.’

  ‘We passed some cottages,’ said Margaret.

  ‘Ah, yes, you would, coming this way from the hotel, but they’re only for farm-workers. Our men, well, they’re born and bred on the island, though, even then, the young ones hop it as soon as ever they can. When Dad goes, the farm will go, I reckon, because there won’t be anyone left to work it. The young fellows won’t stay, and I certainly couldn’t manage s
ingle-handed.’

  ‘How would you like to manage the hotel?’ asked Margaret, hoping this would be answered as though it was a different and an even more personal question. Ransome laughed.

  ‘I reckon Connie Crimp has her eye on the management of that,’ he said, ‘and I wish her joy of it. It wouldn’t be my cup of tea. I’d sooner own a lunatic asylum than try to run a hotel.’

  ‘You could always sell it, if it were yours,’ said Sebastian.

  ‘No chance of that, not with all that’s owing on it, if all that you hear is true.’

  ‘Owing on it? Is it mortgaged, then?’ asked Sebastian.

  ‘Oh, no, it isn’t mortgaged—not yet. It’s all the improvements, you see. Dad says not half of them have begun to be paid for.’

  ‘Well, let’s hope the naturalists will sub up handsomely,’ said Margaret. ‘Thanks ever so much for the tea, Cousin Ransome.’

  ‘You must come again,’ he said, ‘when Dad and Lucy are at home. Lucy is Dad’s wife, by the way.’

  ‘I suppose,’ said Margaret, when they were on their way back, ‘we’d better stay in the hotel tomorrow with The Tutor. He’ll expect us to be on hand to greet Aunt Eliza when she lands. Have you got your party piece ready? I do think she’s behaved a bit coolly, don’t you? I wonder what she’s really like.’

  They were not to know. The Saturday boat came in and went out to the steamer again. It repeated this manoeuvre half-a-dozen times from ten in the morning onwards. Marius and his children waited on the cliff-top as the boat continued to land the bird-watchers, but Eliza did not appear. When it ceased its ferrying and the steamer was lost to sight round a headland, the three returned to the hotel.

  ‘We must somehow have missed her,’ said Marius, ‘although, even after all these years, I would have thought I’d recognise her and she me.’

  They found a peevish Miss Crimp behind the desk.

  ‘There’s only one explanation that I can think of,’ she said. ‘Eliza must have gone straight to the farm to make sure of the eggs, milk and butter. She must realise how pressed I am and thinks she had better take something off my hands, I suppose, however late in the day.’

  ‘Surely somebody else could have gone to the farm,’ said Marius, answering her peevish tone with his own. ‘I should have thought her first consideration would have been to greet her own brother and his children.’

  ‘Consideration?’ snorted Miss Crimp, her colour high and her nostrils pinched. ‘Eliza Chayleigh doesn’t know the meaning of that word. Oh, and I’m afraid Miss Lovelaine won’t be able to take any more baths in the house. I noticed she has been bringing her things over here since you arrived. I have far too many guests in the place already. I cannot have the chalet people taking bathrooms which the residents require. There is a perfectly adequate bath-house for chalet visitors.’

  ‘Now about this bathroom nonsense!’ said Marius testily. ‘I am paying full rates and I insist upon all the facilities of the hotel being open to my daughter.’

  ‘I am sorry, Mr Lovelaine—’

  ‘Otherwise I cancel my booking immediately.’

  ‘Oh, it’s all right, Father,’ said Margaret. ‘I can manage, and we can’t get back to the mainland until Wednesday, anyhow. By that time things will begin to straighten out.’

  ‘If I had realised that you two were to be relegated to an annexe,’ fumed Marius, leading his children towards the lounge, ‘I would never have come. The whole set-up is most unsatisfactory, and what your mother would have made of the arrangements I do not know.’

  ‘Just as well she didn’t come, then,’ said Sebastian. ‘We had rather an interesting time this afternoon, Father. We had tea at the farm.’

  ‘Oh, do they provide teas? Was there clotted cream? I have seen no sign of any at the hotel, so, as we have to pay separately for teas, anyhow, which I regard as an unwarranted extortion, we may as well go over to the farm in future. What sort of price did they charge you?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t think they provide teas in that sort of way,’ said Sebastian. ‘We received an invitation. Did you know, Father, that the farmer is the man who got Aunt Eliza—I mean the man who was responsible for Ransome?’

  ‘Did you meet him?’

  ‘No, we didn’t. It was Ransome who invited us. The farmer and his wife had gone over to the mainland.’

  ‘To tell Aunt Eliza to hurry back to the hotel and help Miss Crimp to cope,’ explained Margaret.

  ‘I am sorry you had any contact with Ransome.’

  ‘We didn’t mean to,’ said Margaret quickly. ‘It was just that we ran into him on Thursday when we were passing the farm.’

  ‘Nevertheless, it was unfortunate.’

  ‘I don’t see why. Once this holiday is over I don’t suppose we shall ever see or speak to him again.’

  ‘One thing,’ said Sebastian, ‘Aunt Eliza can’t hold anything against the farmer if she buys his produce and if Ransome supplies the hotel vegetables. Do you think, Father, that she’ll leave the hotel to Ransome in her will?’

  ‘The hotel is not hers to dispose of,’ said Marius testily, ‘not entirely, that is. I wish I had known of this partnership before I answered Lizzie’s letter and booked our rooms. It upsets everything.’

  ‘I’ve said I’m sorry, Father,’ said Margaret.

  ‘Oh, quite, quite, my dear. I shall not refer to it again. It is unfortunate that I committed myself without knowing the facts, that is all. No blame attaches to you. We should never have come here. Your mother was right. I can see that now. And, Margaret, there is no reason why you should not make use of my bedroom and the adjacent bathroom. I will not be dictated to by that acidulated woman behind the desk. Who does she think she is?’

  ‘Aunt Eliza’s partner,’ said Sebastian.

  ‘We have only her word for that. She would scarcely be a full partner, anyway. I daresay she has bought herself a few shares and is trading on the fact. I shall be very glad to meet Lizzie and see that upstart person put in her place.’

  ‘I don’t really mind about the bath, father,’ insisted Margaret. ‘I don’t want a fuss. It isn’t worth it. Let’s talk it over with Aunt Eliza tonight and let her settle it.’

  ‘Very well,’ agreed Marius, who was not anxious to try conclusions with Miss Crimp until he was sure of his ground. ‘Well, I will see you at table.’

  This promise was fulfilled, but enquiry at the desk beforehand produced no news of Lizzie.

  ‘Would she stay for dinner at the farm, do you suppose?’ asked Sebastian, as they began their meal.

  ‘Goodness knows!’ his father irritably responded. ‘I certainly feel in no mood to meet her tonight. I cannot understand her. Having invited us here, she might at least have had the decency to be on view when we arrived. I hope it is not a deliberate slight.’

  ‘Did you have a very bad row with her, father?’ Margaret enquired.

  ‘No, of course not. It was for my parents to dictate my course of action, for I was only a youth at the time of Lizzie’s foolishness.’

  ‘But something happened after that, didn’t it?’ said Sebastian. ‘Wasn’t there a row of some sort at your wedding?’

  ‘I expect it was Boobie,’ muttered Margaret. ‘Boobie and Grandmamma between them.’

  ‘What’s that?’ demanded Marius. ‘Have you been listening to Cousin Marie’s gossip? I should never have had that woman in the house!’

  ‘Well, yes, she did let out a few spiteful things at the Singletons’, Father.’

  ‘I have never quarrelled with your aunt,’ said Marius stiffly. ‘She was invited to the wedding and she came. Mischief was made between us by the behaviour of your grandmother, your mother’s mother. Lizzie never forgave it and until I received this invitation that we should spend a holiday on Great Skua, she and I have never corresponded.’

  ‘But you knew she had inherited the hotel.’

  ‘I heard about it through my lawyers. As you may or may not know, my parents left all that they had to me, cu
tting off poor Lizzie completely. I arranged, therefore, that a certain sum—small, of course, for I had you children and your mother to think of—should be paid quarterly to my sister. When Lizzie inherited this eccentric Miss Chayleigh’s estate on Great Skua my lawyers informed me of the fact and hinted, in dry and delicate lawyers’ fashion, that it would be quite reasonable for me to discontinue the quarterly payments once Lizzie was amply provided for.’

  ‘And did you? I hope you didn’t,’ said Margaret. Marius smiled.

  ‘No, I did not,’ he said. ‘Your mother thought I should and, most illogically, held it against Lizzie that I instructed the lawyers to continue payment.’

  ‘Good for you, Father. After all, your parents were Aunt Eliza’s parents, too. It was a shame to cut her out of their will.’

  ‘So I believed, and so I still believe, my dear, although provision was made for her if ever she married. All the same, if this is the return I get for a disinterested action, I begin to have second thoughts upon the matter. It is most ungracious and uncivil of Lizzie to delay our meeting like this. I do not understand it. Her letter of invitation was warm and friendly enough.’

  ‘We understood from Ransome that the hotel does not do very well, Father. In fact, he told us that Aunt Eliza is in debt. The improvements seem to have cost more than she had to spend.’

  ‘I would not rely on that source for your information, my dear.’

  ‘Well, he lives on the island. He ought to know.’

  ‘Perhaps it is not in his interests to represent the hotel as a going concern,’ said Marius.

  chapter six

  First Misgivings

  ‘Where has thou been so long from my embraces,

  Poor pitied exile? Tell me, did thy graces

  Fly discontented hence, and for a time

  Did rather choose to bless another clime?’

  Robert Herrick

  « ^ »

  Well, I cannot understand it,’ said Marius at the reception desk on the following morning. ‘I really cannot. What on earth is keeping her so long? Of course, Miss Crimp, you know far more about my sister nowadays than I do, but, from what I remember of Lizzie, she was not inconsiderate or ill-mannered, and, really, this absence of hers, when she had specifically invited me, seems in the worst of taste, to say the least of it.’